


Ickle Stowaway

by matrixrefugee



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 19:33:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matrixrefugee/pseuds/matrixrefugee
Summary: When Donna comes aboard the TARDIS, a squealy little stowaway turns up....





	Ickle Stowaway

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Author's choice, author's choice, caught in the act](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/163729.html?thread=7351185&format=light#cmt7351185) Featuring Ten, Donna Noble and one little Adipose.

They didn't suspect they had company at first, not until Donna went for the tin of fancy biscuits she had stowed in the bottom of one of her numerous trunks and found something had been helping itself to them.

"We've got *rats* in this box," Donna declared, storming into the "bridge" of the TARDIS, the tin in one hand, half-empty.

The Doctor looked up from tinkering with the randomizer, trying to get it to be a bit less random, giving her a confused look. "Rats? How could there be rats? There's never been rats before, not on my TARDIS," he babbled. "There is an anti-rat shield on the console."

"Well, it's not doin' its job, not any more," Donna snapped. "What else could've got into *my* biscuit tin? Elves? Don't tell me you've got *elves* as stowaways that snuck on when you landed on some planet of the elves."

"There are no planets inhabited by elves, or not the kind that would steal biscuits," the Doctor replied. "Steal your face or the breath out your lungs, but not biscuits."

"Well then, have *you* been nicking my biscuits?" she demanded. "Some kind of involuntary spaceship fare you didn't tell me about?"

"I've not touched your biscuits: didn't even know you had them in your luggage," the Doctor replied sincerely.

"Then we'll just have to find out who the thief is," she snarled. "I'm not going another moment without finding out. And I'm not touching another biscuit: the rest of the lot could have... space germs on them."

The Doctor set aside the spanner he forgot he was holding and rummaged in his box of tools. "I'm going to need a pasteboard box."

"A pasteboard *wot*?" Donna demanded.

"A pasteboard *box*, a foot or two on a side and so deep. And a length of string, maybe ten feet long. And we'll need some of the rest of those biscuits as bait," he said, digging out a length of dowel a bit shorter than his forearm.

"What do you need all of that for?" Donna said, starting to grump off up the stairs and down the hallway.

"I'm setting a trap. A simple trap: it's probably something simple," he said, double-checking the length of the dowel against his forearm.

"A trap? Shouldn't you use something a bit more... sophisticated than a pasteboard *box*," Donna grumbled as she went in search of a box. "Whoever heard of catching a space creature with a box and a *stick*." This wasn't catching an intruding creature, it was a Warner Brothers cartoon.

But she found a box to the Doctor's requirements -- a clothing storage box which she emptied onto the floor -- and headed back to the bridge, nearly colliding with the Doctor in the hallway, as he measured out the string.

"Ah, brilliant! Proper sized box, and I've got the string," he said, holding up the trailing length.

"This had better work: of all the daft ideas in history, this has got to be the most... full of *daftness*," Donna grumbled, shoving the box at him.

Within minutes, the Doctor had the box trap rigged up on the floor of Donna's cabin, a handful of digestives piled under it, the string, attached to the dowel which propped the box up, trailed out into the hallway, the other end in his hand as the two of them knelt outside the half-open door, watching.

They heard a metallic rustle, then a shuffle and a snuffling, mewling sound. Something pattered out into the middle of the cabin and with a soft, gleeful squeal, crunched on one of the biscuits.

The Doctor jerked the string, pulling out the dowel and sending the box clattering, covering the intruder. Something squibbled under the box, causing it to shuffle around the floor.

"Got it!" he cried, scooting into the room and holding the box down. He lifted one corner and reached under, pulling out...

One little baby Adipose, wriggling, clutching a biscuit in its weensy webbed paws and squawking, annoyed.

"Well, look at you! Didn't catch up with your brothers and sisters," the Doctor said.

"It's... one of those little fat creatures," Donna said, surprised, and having a hard time staying grumpy.

"Oh yes, must've gotten left behind and slipped into the TARDIS when we weren't looking," the Doctor said. "We'll just have to make a side-trip to Adipose-3 and let it off there."

"Mmm-*MMM*!" the Adipose grunted, shaking its "head" and setting its weeny mouth in a straight line.

"I think it wants to stay with us," Donna said.

"Sorry, we'll have to let it off: no pets on my TARDIS," the Doctor insisted.

"Mreeeee," the Adipose squealed, holding its little arms out to Donna.

"Here, let me hold the little lump," Donna said, holding her hands out to it. The Doctor sighed and handed the critter to her.

"It's a sweet little thing: why can't we keep it?" she asked.

"A moment ago, you wanted me to trap whatever was nicking your biscuits. Now you want to keep it?" the Doctor asked, shaking his head.

"I thought it was rats: didn't expect it would be so adorable. It's like a living plush toy," Donna said, rubbing the light down on the critter's creamy skin. The Adipose let out a happy little twitter and snuggled into her arms. "It can eat my biscuits: it's not like I need them so much."

"All right, but there's a problem: what happens when your purse alien grows up?" the Doctor asked.

"Well, we'll handle that when it happens."

"When it's grown to be ten feet tall?"


End file.
